Hi, everyone!
As you all know, I’ve been waiting for my laptop computer for a few weeks with bated breath (if you are new to this blog, please refer to my last post, What’s the Deal, Madame Bitters, for a full explanation).
Well, I’ve got some good news. It’s finally here !
So to kick this thing off right (and as a reward to my faithful readers) I’ve decided to answer an often asked question from my readers: Why I fear/loathe birds.
I’m a big believer in giving the public what they want, within reason of course. So here it is; My Bird Story:
Long, long ago (about 20 years before I became Madame Bitters) my parents took me and a cousin of mine, Jake on a weekend trip to a farm. I think the farm belonged to a friend of my grandparents, but I don’t know. It’s really not important to the story– I guess I shouldn’t have brought it up.
Neither I or my cousin Jake had ever seen, much less visited a farm because we were children of suburbia. I was excited because there were cows and baby cows, more commonly known as calves, at the farm and I couldn’t wait to pet them. I’ve always liked cows, although now I prefer to eat them rather than pet them.
When we arrived at the farm my cousin and I bolted from the car as soon as my father released the parking brake. There was a lot to explore and many cows to pet and Jake and I couldn’t wait a minute longer.
We ran through a patch of field and when we came upon some trees Jake hung back. He had to pee, he said and then he told me to go ahead and that he’d catch up with me. I agreed, as I had no desire to watch him relieve himself.
I had only walked for a few minutes through the trees when I came upon a small pond. I approached it, thinking there might be frogs or baby ducks to play with.
How wrong I was.
I had just reached the edge of the pond and was looking at the scum on it’s surface when I heard a honking sound followed by an evil hiss. I turned my head toward the sound. Less than 10 feet away was a huge goose and he was pissed . He was honking, hissing, and flapping his wings, which I suppose was an attempt to seem bigger and more threating. He needn’t have bothered. To a seven year old girl who was small for her age, the goose was straight out of a nightmare.
Well, after I saw that goose (who I know had to be at least 3 feet tall) I did what anyone would do. I ran like hell; as fast as my short little legs could carry me, which it turns out wasn’t very far. Who knew an angry goose could run so fast? It was a lesson I learned the hard way.
The goose knocked me down and it began snapping at my flailing arms and legs. A goose has a bill like a duck; it’s not sharp but it left terrible bruises where he “bit” me. It was honking and hissing and I was screaming and crying. I’m sure we were quite a site as we rolled around on the ground as I fought for my life.
The next thing I remember was waking up in a strange bed with my mother and some old lady, who actually owned the farm, sitting next to me. Jake saw the goose attack me and he ran to the farmhouse to get help. When he, my mom and dad and the old lady (who had the good sense to grab a shotgun before leaving) found me they said I was bleeding and lying unconcious in fetal position while the goose continued it’s attack. The goose only stopped when the old lady fired the shotgun in the air to scare him off.
I stayed inside the farmhouse and didn’t venture outside again until it was time to leave. Even then my dad had to carry me out to the car.
During my stay at the farm and in the years since, I’ve found out a few things about the goose. It’s name was Eddie and he was legendary for his bad disposition.
He was old. My mother told me how Eddie had attacked my uncle 25 years before. She knew it was Eddie because he was missing a little of his bill, probably from fighting off a coyote. Eddie was big enough and mean enough to fight off a coyote and win, of that I have no doubt. She thought Eddie was long dead or else she wouldn’t have let me run off unarmed.
People had tried to kill him over the years, but for whatever reason they never could. To me Eddie is a lot like a mean, bitter old man. They say the good die young, but assholes live forever. That’s definately the case with Eddie.
I don’t think he’s still alive. Although geese can live for decades in a safe environment, he’d have to be at least 50 years old by now. I think he’s down in hell, guarding Satan’s duck pond and fighting with that 5-headed dog that guards the gates of hell.
Poor doggy.
</
The Starving Bulls**t Artist 
Recent Comments